


Time's Changes

by SusanaR



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe G version (DH AU G) [17]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Banter, Brothers, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:13:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/SusanaR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boromir is injured in combat, twice in rapid succession. Faramir tries to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time's Changes

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is a flashback in a chapter of B&E, so if you've already read that, you've seen this before. But it stands on its own as a story set in the late Third Age, so I thought that I would post it as such. 
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> If you don't understand how a man could both love his brother dearly and want to wring his neck at the same time, then you were probably an only child." - paraphrased from a quote by Linda Sunshine 
> 
> “Yet between the brothers there was great love, and had been since childhood, when Boromir was the helper and protector of Faramir. No jealousy or rivalry had arisen between them since, for their father’s favour or for the praise of men." - J.R.R. Tolkien, the Appendices.

Citadel of Minas Tirith, Approximately a Dozen Years Before the Ring War 

A tall, slender grey-eyed man stood in front of the thick wooden door of the Lord Steward's office. Being the Steward's younger son, one might think that Faramir would have less trepidation than the average petitioner. And perhaps he did; it was often said that Denethor was a hard man but a fair one. By the latest years of Gondor's long struggle against its ancient enemy, Lord Denethor sometimes seemed warped and off, even to those whom he knew and loved well, such as his heir and his younger brother-by-law the Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Still, Faramir did not have the same fearful trepidation of a man who had never entered the rarefied surroundings of the Lord Steward's offices. On some days, Denethor remembered that he thought of Faramir as a loyal and competent, if somewhat uninspired, Captain of Gondor. On other days, he remembered that Faramir's birth had bought the long, lingering death of his wife Finduilas. Or, sometimes worse, that Faramir listened to his own heart and mind above the orders his Steward and Father gave him. 

'Please,' Faramir importuned Eru, the Valar, and any of his ancestors who might be listening and inclined to look kindly upon him, 'Please let this be one of those days when he is charitably inclined towards me. Please let him have just reviewed the reduced casualty lists from Ithilien, or the amount of weaponry and other largess we have captured from the enemy. Please, do NOT let this be one of the days when he has been poring over the intelligence reports, and based on information from some source that he will tell NO ONE of, he has decided that I am hiding things from him. Or worse yet, have been reminded of Mother, and that but for me, he would still have her.' 

Then a deep voice, one more suited to the field of battle than the hallowed halls of the Citadel, called 'Enter,' and Faramir had to empty his mind of any thoughts but the one indulgence he had come to beg of his father. 

Lord Denethor snapped briskly, "What do you want, Faramir?" He had barely glanced away from the scrolls spread across his desk. 

Faramir sighed in relief. That wasn't his father Denethor's truly irritated voice; it was merely the tone that indicated that the Lord Steward was busy and had little time for interruptions. So Faramir came directly to his point, "My Lord Steward, I have come to ask another month's leave from my command in Ithilien." 

At that, Denethor did look up to meet Faramir's eyes. As his gray-eyed gaze met Faramir's and held, the Steward's eyes narrowed, and then the stern lines on his face softened. "Ah. To keep Boromir from overdoing." 

"Yes, my Lord Father." Faramir agreed. One of Boromir's dearest friends, Lord Tavasond the heir of the Lebennin, had been killed in action recently. He'd met his death taking an arrow for Boromir. The Steward's heir had taken his friend's loss hard. Faramir had been recalled from Ithilien at around the time of Tavasond's death, not so coincidentally, he thought. There were few subjects on which the Steward and his second son were in complete accord, but loving Boromir was one of them. Another was that Boromir was a bit of a hothead, as demonstrated in his recent reckless charge and subsequent injury. Boromir was also an awful patient, and still grieving his friend's death. Denethor wasn't good at dealing with anyone's grief, even that of his beloved eldest son. But Faramir was. And Denethor was a big enough man to let him be. 

"You can have another two weeks." Denethor allowed, even going to the trouble of explaining his decision, "I need you back in Ithilien in good enough time to take a trip into Harad yourself before the campaign season really begins. I've some intelligence on changing alliances between the Beys in South Gondor which we might be able to take advantage of, if you and your spies play your roles well." 

The reasoning was sound, so Faramir nodded. 

"Don't tell Boromir the nature of the task you must return to finish." Denethor added. 

"It would not do to upset him." Faramir agreed. Boromir hated Faramir's secondary career as a spy with a passion. Upon receiving that reassurance, Denethor quickly dismissed Faramir, and Faramir lost no time in tendering his farewells. 

Faramir spent the next week in and out of the House of Healing visiting Boromir and several others of his men. As needed, Faramir cajoled his brother, amused him, nagged him, and harassed him. It seemed to do the trick, as Boromir was out of the House and back in his own chambers in record time. Faramir also spent time talking with the grieving mother of Tavasond's unborn child, the brothers' childhood companion Nessanie. 

A week before he was scheduled to return to Ithilien, Faramir sat perched on the table beside Boromir's bed, playing cards with his grumpy brother. Both young men were unusually quiet. Boromir characteristically so, after Tavan's death. Faramir, pondering how to approach a sensitive issue. 

"My hand." Faramir announced with the shadow of a grin. 

"You always win." Boromir grumbled back. 

Faramir snorted, following the pre-set pattern of a thousand arguments. "I've tried and tried to teach you how to count cards. If you won't lower yourself to it than you won't win." 

"It's cheating," Boromir shot back, now beginning to smile a bit himself, "And I ought to thrash you soundly for it, cheeky little knave that you are. Even if you are my own obnoxious baby brother." 

Faramir nodded somberly, but with a twinkle in his gray eyes. "Yes. My many faults reflect poorly on my teachers. Who include, oh wait, you, my dashing elder brother." 

Boromir chuckled, before swatting idly at Faramir's red-gold hair. "Such a jester. Now, out with it." 

"Hmm?" 

"Out with it, Kit. What's really eating at you?" Boromir elaborated, while gesturing for Faramir to hand him the grapes. 

Momentarily nonplussed, Faramir gaped and blushed before asking, "How do you even know that there is something on my mind?" 

"You may know almost everything in the world," Boromir replied, with an elder brother's lazy grin, "but I know you." Then Boromir snapped his fingers, "Grapes, Faramir, or have you gone deaf as well as dumb?" 

Faramir handed his brother the fruit, and then decided just to go to the heart of the matter. Boromir appreciated bluntness. Well, he did once he'd finished getting angry over it and shouting at the insult. 

"You should go slowly with Nessa," Faramir managed, "And you shouldn't blame yourself for Tavas' death. It wasn't your fault that he fell in battle, achieving the goal of protecting his Captain-General and future Steward. And its not your fault that you love Nessanie. Love just happens, Brom." 

The grapes fell, plop plop plop onto the stone floor of Boromir's bedchamber, as Faramir's older brother stared at him, mouth open wide in shock. 

If the subject hadn't been so serious and heart-rending, Faramir would have been proud of himself. He took pride in being one of the few people in Gondonr who routinely shocked their valiant Captain-General. 

"How...in the name of Eru and all the Valar, did you know of that, Faramir? I haven't told a soul!" Boromir protested, once he had found his tongue. 

Faramir started to answer, only to stop as Boromir irritably waved him to silence. "Never mind." Boromir put his head in his hands, and Faramir leaned forward to squeeze his brother's nearer shoulder supportively. 

"I arranged to have her visit tomorrow, when the Lord Steward our father will be out reviewing repairs to the Rammas Echor." Faramir said quietly, "Was that ill-done of me?" 

"No!...Yes...I don't know, Faramir! What in Eru's name can I possibly say to her?" Boromir answered. 

"Tell her you blame yourself for Tavas' death. That's true enough, wrong-headed of you as it is. There was nothing you could have done to save him." 

"But I've never been so undone by a soldier's death before, not since I was a beardless boy...." Boromir objected. 

Faramir sighed, "Brom, don't be a nitwit. This is the first time you've lost a close childhood friend. That is enough to be undone even without the complicated situation with Nessa." 

"But if you suspected, others may have, as well. What if she knows?" 

"I know you very well," Faramir replied in a bracing tone, "And I began to suspect that there was...someone, a year prior." Faramir remembered the occasion well. He had been accustomed to teasing his brother Boromir about his womanizing ways, as had a select number of Boromir's friends. At a certain point during the previous year, Boromir's flirtations had changed, becoming more an exercise, a cover. Faramir was in a unique position to realize that, being intimately familiar with both Boromir and the mechanics of putting on a front. Quietly, Faramir added, "I doubt that anyone else has guessed, nor need they. It is perfectly understandable that you will be there for Nessa during this time. If things develop later, than that will not be looked at much askance. Just be patient." 

"Oh, what do you know of it, virgin that you are?" Boromir mocked irritably. 

To Boromir's surprise and fascination, his younger brother blushed. "Why, Faramir," The Steward's heir crowed delightedly, "You've been holding out on me. Tell me, who was the lady who at last overcame the pure virtue of my baby brother, the perpetual virgin?" Anticipating a good story, the Steward's heir popped another grape into his mouth. 

"It, um, it wasn't one woman..." Faramir mumbled, still blushing furiously. "She had friends..." 

Boromir choked on the grape, and Faramir had to pound his brother's back until Boromir caught his breath again. "Tell." Boromir ordered, once he could speak again. 

And so Faramir did, leaving out many of the details. Boromir did not approve of Faramir's occasionally playing the spy in Harad. As he spoke, Boromir's gaze turned from fascinated and teasing to a bit sympathetic. 

"Not all that you had expected, eh, little brother? I am sorry for you. For me, every night spent in passion was a fine one, until I realized that I wanted more than that. And with my dear friend's love, of all women." Boromir stopped to sigh in bitter irony, before turning his attention back to his brother, "But you, you were born knowing that love was more. I had always expected you to take the Uncle Imrahil route. But we cannot all marry our common-born true love at a bare, beardless twenty years of age." 

"Among other things, our father would have killed us." Faramir agreed somberly. That got a laugh from Boromir. Faramir continued more seriously, regret and resignation and affection mingled in his voice and his heart, "You were right. I had thought to wait until I was wed, or at the least betrothed. But around us there is so much death..." That, and Gondor had needed the information that Dervorin's contact Sayyida had possessed. Sayyida had wanted Faramir as well as Dervorin in her bed, and one thing had led to another. Faramir couldn't bring himself to regret all of it. In his twenty-three years of life, he'd done much worse things for Gondor than sleep with a willing woman, and Sayyida had become a friend of sorts, besides an invaluable resource. 

Faramir had gone quiet to long, so he added, "Dev was there," to distract his brother, elaborating, "It was actually his idea." 

"Of course he was, and of course it was." Boromir drawled, "Any trouble you get into, he's always there." 

"Him or you." Faramir teased, before growing serious again, "Don't mention it to Gendarion, or Ynithe." Gendarion was Dervorin's cousin, the heir to the Ringlo Vale, and also one of Boromir's good friends. 

"Of course I wouldn't, Fara." Boromir assured, shaking his head, "I did my best not to tell Gendan of all of my exploits. Especially since marrying Ynithe, he's been almost worse than Father. For all I know, he'd go running to his father, to complain of Dev corrupting you. And no one wants to deal with a disapproving Lord Tyorvond." Tyorvond served as Denethor's Captain-General, after Denethor himself left the field, and since Boromir himself had yet to gain sufficient years and experience. 

Boromir leaned back against his pillows, considering his brother. "You know, Faramir, if I didn't know you better, I'd think that you had just made up all of that, to distract me." 

Faramir grinned, half-embarrassed, half-rueful. "I didn't. I did choose now to tell you, to distract you." 

"Ai," Boromir sighed deeply, "What am I going to do? She could never love me, and I can't afford the distraction." 

"You can't afford to give up, either." Faramir argued. 

"What do you know of it? Just because you've slept with someone doesn't mean you've had to struggle with a hopeless love." Boromir retorted. 

Faramir regarded his brother silently for a moment. At last, he said, "I know a lot about trying to win someone's love, Boromir. And I judge your case not to be as hopeless as mine." 

The two exchanged a long, speaking look, and then Boromir nodded. "I'll see Ness tomorrow. Thank you." 

"What are brothers for? You've certainly cut through the knot of my problems often enough." 

"Well, you are more problematical than I." Boromir drawled, with an elder brother's superior grin. 

After that night, Faramir worried less about his brother, although perhaps he should not have. A scant few weeks after returning to Ithilien, he was summoned home by the news that his brother had been injured, repulsing a band of orcs who had been having a go at Gondor's borders. Denethor was worried enough to call Faramir back, although he probably should not have. But Faramir's lieutenants held Ithilien well enough, and it was a relief to Faramir later, to have learned that they could. 

Boromir was seriously injured this time. He'd led a dangerous sortie to rescue an overextended squire. Then Boromir had stayed in the rear of the retreat, even after he was identified as the Steward's son, and all the arrows loosed by the other side were aimed at him. He'd taken several arrows, and a long slash up his leg. 

Faramir would remember for the rest of his life how scared he had felt, waiting in a room at the hated House of Healing beside his father for news of his brother's condition. He thought that Lord Denethor would remember it, as well. When the healer came to tell him that he held out hope, but that the Steward's heir had lost a lot of blood, he offered to let one of them go in. 

Faramir would have deferred to his father, but Denethor had other ideas. 

"You go." The Steward ordered. "Tell him that you need him. Tell him that I'm being unfair to you. Tell him that you're planning to go dance naked in Harad. Tell him anything, to make him stay out of the Halls of Mandos. I cannot - we cannot - lose him." 

Faramir's jaw dropped, but none of those were bad ideas. He spoke to Boromir for hours. Boromir got stronger, and after a day of Denethor and Faramir taking turns at his bedside, the healers declared Boromir out of danger. 

"Go bathe." Denethor ordered Faramir, at that point. "You smell like a cave in the woods." 

Faramir huffed a slight laugh, forgetting, for the moment, with whom he was speaking. "I wonder why that is?" Faramir jested. 

Denethor smiled slightly, his gray eyes alight with immeasurable relief and even a touch of rare amusement. "You did well, today, boy." He praised Faramir, "Now go get yourself cleaned up, and you can come back to sleep beside him. I must herd men, and our Boromir should not wake alone." 

After Boromir was well on the road to recovery, Faramir realized that he was quietly furious at his brother. Not unsympathetic, but enraged. "If you think, in that rock of a head of yours, that either Tavasond or Nessanie would be pleased by your death, then you are a greater fool than I have ever thought you to be. And I was the one who re-wrote most of your essays at the academy." 

"Nag, nag, nag." Boromir muttered, stroking his barely healed leg uncomfortably. 

Faramir suppressed an urge to kick him. "Brom, what were you thinking?" Faramir demanded instead. 

Boromir blustered, and would have rejected the criticisms, but for that they came from Faramir, and Boromir had had naught but time to think, the past few days. "I'm not sure," he answered, "I was thinking that I had to make up, for Tavasond and all of the others who can't fight with us anymore. And feeling guilty for Nessanie's babe, who will grow up without a father." 

Faramir was sympathetic, but unwilling to lose his brother due to misplaced guilt. "I understand, but it was foolish, brother. Should you be so thoughtless again, I will deal with you as you would with me." Faramir promised.

"I'm the older brother, Fara."

Fara grinned at his brother through his worry and concern. "And I'm of age now, as well. And of equal rank, I'll have you know, with the both of us Captains."

"Still," Boromir blustered, well aware that Fara, who had been helping him move about, could easily take him now. "Its not right."

Faramir's smile slipped off his face. "Oh? Do I love you less than you love me? Or is my dignity less valuable than yours?"

Boromir groaned. "Of course not."

Faramir nodded, and then systematically went about removing all of Boromir's weapons and proper clothes from the room. So that even had Boromir wanted to be up and about in his official capacity, it would have been quite impossible. Boromir sadly suspected that Faramir had done something sneaky like put them into Denethor's chambers. Their father was not minded to let Boromir rush his recovery this time, no matter how much Gondor needed its golden captain in the field. 

"Fara?" Boromir asked in annoyance, "I thought you said next time, little brother."

Faramir gave him a cheeky grin, "I had. But then you insulted me, and I changed my mind. Well you know that had our positions been reversed, you would have seen me quarantined to my room until I was truly healed enough to be about my duties again. So I shall you, that you need not feel I am incapable of taking care of you when you have need."

"But Fara," Boromir argued grumpily, deciding not to try to get up and stop his brother, since he was still weak as a kitten, "You know Father shall chastise me thoroughly, aye, and blister my ears as well, 'ere he sends me back to my regiment."

Faramir didn't pause in his systematic hiding of Boromir's things, but it was there nonetheless in the room, the normally unspoken of Oliphaunt that was Denethor's lack of care for his youngest son. Denethor had never once personally reined Faramir in beyond a few scathing indictments and handing the boy off to a guard to punish. Such occasions, so far as Boromir knew, had been blessedly rare, for Faramir had not by nature been a difficult child, save in ways that were normally quiet and difficult to observe without careful and perceptive attention. Attention his father had never paid, though his brother had. 'Twas a somewhat embarrassing reversal of roles for Faramir to be taking care of him, Boromir reflected, but still he preferred the embarrassment to thinking of how his Father had failed his brother, or of how foolish he had been to fight so recklessly, caught up in grief over Tavis's death and his emotional turmoil over Nessa.

Boromir stifled a yelp of dismay as Faramir tossed all of his good shirts into the hallway. "I'm sorry, little brother." The elder offered, "I am sorry for worrying you." 

Faramir chuckled a bit at that, but it was a watery chuckle, leading Boromir to believe Faramir was no more enjoying this than Boromir ever had. 

"I'm sorry that you have not had the safety of our father's regard these years, as well as my own," Boromir added. 

Faramir sighed, ending his packing and then going to lie beside Boromir on the bed. "You can be sorry for worrying me by nearly dying, Brom. And for worrying Nessa and your other friends and even our father as well, for that matter. But 'tis I should apologize to you, who had to act as father to me when most older brothers were cheerfully tormenting their pesky younger siblings."

"Nay, fool." Brom reassured, catching the rising Faramir off-balance and pulling him back into an embrace. "I was glad to be your friend and protector as well as your brother. Always, except when it involves causing you pain. And I'm honored to have you as my friend and protector as well. Though to be fair, you have been ever since you first taught me how to stop reversing my letters, back when you were just a tot."

Faramir returned his embrace, murmuring "There are many different ways to love and protect someone, I suppose." The younger brother then kissed the elder softly on the forehead in farewell. "I must head back to my post tonight." Faramir apologized. "Your recovery is assured if you do not overdo, and Ithilien is being pushed from every side. Nessa will visit tomorrow, and Uncle Imrahil at the end of the week. I leave you in good hands, besides our Father's."

"Have a care, kit." Boromir instructed sternly. "I hear of your antics getting much riskier up there, I'll take leave that I might ride up and supervise you. And I'll bring Sergeant Menohtar with me, and leave you to him." Boromir grinned, "And you can ask Erchirion, or even Uncle Imrahil, whether it matters to old Menohtar whether one of his Swanlings is a newly-made Captain or a raw recruit, when it comes to foolish risks." 

Faramir winced. "Aye, I'll be careful." For well Faramir knew that rank and station mattered little to Menohtar. The old sea salt might only be a sergeant in Imrahil's navy, but he was also Imrahil's uncle-by-marriage. Because of that, Menohtar seemed to view himself as the protector of all of Imrahil's children and his nephews. On top of that, though the new Captain of the Rangers always welcomed his brother the Captain-General of Gondor's armies to Ithilien, Boromir's visits more often than not resulted in headaches for Faramir. Boromir possessed a loud and booming voice. Even his whisper was loud and penetrating. 

Boromir looked at his brother sternly, crossing his arms in a paternal fashion, even though he had been so recently lectured and confined for practical purposes to his quarters. Faramir had to cough to hide a smile, and then decided not to bother. 

At first Boromir's eyes narrowed at the grin, and then the humor of the situation got to him, too, and he had to smile back. The brothers shared a moment of perfect camaraderie, before Boromir fixed Faramir with a serious look. "I mean it, Fara. About being careful. I might only be able to visit, and at that not frequently, due to the distance of your posting and the fact that, crazy spy network aside, you run it quite well. But I CAN ask Imrahil for the indefinite loan of Menohtar to serve as your personal sergeant." 

"Oh, for the love of...Boromir, I swear to you, I will be careful." Silently, Faramir amended, 'As careful as I CAN be." Then he gave his brother a final, reassuring smile, and left. 

Boromir sat on his bed for a few more moments. Then he carefully reached over to pick up a lap-desk to compose a letter to his Uncle Imrahil, explaining Faramir's need for a responsible and PRACTICAL sergeant. Boromir knew that he didn't even have to mention names...he and Imrahil had discussed this matter before.


End file.
